Magic and Mystery
by Otterly Lost
Summary: The day Mycroft left for Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry was the day Sherlock discovered his own magical ability. Likewise, it was during a particularly coarse rugby match that Mudblood John discovered his... HarryPotter/Sherlock Crossover
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

"Mycroft... you can't go to school."

Mycroft paused in his packing, his long hornbeam wand in the process of being tucked delicately into his neatly organised trunk. He leveled Sherlock with a patient look not really befitting most eleven year olds. "I can and I must,"he said sternly. "I have things I want to accomplish and I can't do that without a proper education."

"But-"

"No but's, Sherlock,"Mycroft said slipping the wand into a safe compartment and closing the lid. "I have to go and you have to stay here and take care of Mummy. I'll send an owl every week and I'll certainly come home on holidays." He was prepared to end the matter completely but a crack at the window stopped him. There was another crack and the a further tinkling sound before he looked up.

The glass of the window had delicately began to break, the crack spiderwebbing and making tiny shards tumble to the floor. Following in sync with it, the one next to it began to shatter as well, then the next one on the otherside of the room. Mycroft narrowed his eyes and said sharply,"Sherlock. Control yourself; Mummy was so upset the last time this happened. It's highly undignified for a young man like yourself to allow your magic to run rampant."

He turned his gaze back down on the small boy, whose eyes were watery and whose cheeks were red. Sherlock sniffled and rubbed his nose, sucking in a breath so sharp that he hiccupped. Mycroft's lips thinned and he let a breath out through his long nose.

"Sherlock... I'm not sorry that life beckons me,"he said. "I am, however, sorry that this upsets you so... I will owl often and... if you're behaved and well mannered, I will send along some texts books or... perhaps an interesting magical device for you to experiment with."

Sherlock tried to keep his face straight but his bottom lip wibbled. His silver eyes were glaring a hole into the place over Mycroft's shoulder. Mycroft let out another breath. "I promise that I'll keep in contact, Sherlock,"he said and then he left, dragging his trunk out with him.

Sherlock watched him go and the glass in the windows exploded in a shower of beautiful crystals.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Yeah. I've been playing on Pottermore which lead to a discussion with my mom on the various Houses the Sherlock characters would end up in, which lead to fic ideas... Anyway, this is just the prologue. Its unbeta'd and unbrit picked. It introduces Mycroft at 11 and Sherlock at 4. For anyone curious about Mycroft's wand, I worked pretty hard to find wands that matched their personalities; they were harder than the actual houses! I found Mycroft's completely by accident using the Harry Potter Wiki. His wand is Hornbeam and Dragon Heartstring, thirteen and a quarter inches, and its supple. I chose Hornbeam because it usually picks wizards or witches who have one pure passion/obsession/vision that _will_ be fulfilled. It also adapts so completely to the owner that it even takes on their principals and morals and should it be asked to do something that goes against its these principals and morals, it will refuse. Dragon Heartstring tends to be the core that has the most power; it fits for someone who _is_ the British Government... and will be the Wizarding Government as well, haha. Anyway... I'll try to highlight the wands of characters as they're introduced and explain my reasoning behind them and everything.


	2. Chapter 1

_**Chapter One**_

The Leaky Cauldron was so small and cramped that, at first, John completely missed it. It was only after catching sight of a strangely dressed man(robes? In the middle of the summer?), that he lead his parents into the warm looking pub. His Mum and Dad hadn't been the most receptive in all this; they were non magical so the owl sitting on their car had been a bit of a fright. If John was perfectly honest, it had been a scare for him too. It wasn't every day that an owl appeared bearing post from, apparently, the most prestigious school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. Hogwarts!

While the entire situation seemed particularly hard to believe, it explained a lot of the oddities of John's childhood. Harry's pink hair when she took his rattle as a baby, the exploding cabinets when he was denied sweets as a toddler, being transported clear across the rugby field _right in the middle of a match..._ There weren't logical explanations. So while at first dubious, the Watson family had decided to follow this sham, if only for a little while.

Being Muggles(that's what the letter had called his parents at the very least), John was left get directions from the very school he would be attending. Afterall, where would non magical folks go to get a wand? Or even a cauldron? The best he could hope to do was to get a large sauce pan. With careful correspondence, however, he and his parents soon found themselves in the heart of London at the end of August. The term started in September and they were about as ready as they were going to be.

They stuck together as they entered the oddball Leaky Cauldron and it was John who inched up to the bar. "Er... We're looking for Diagon Alley?"he asked, looking up at the barkeep. Said barkeep looked like a walnut with a face; he lacked teeth though, which John saw when he smiled. John's back straightened abit.

"Oh, sure,"said the elderly man, and in tapped his way out from behind the bar. "You're a muggle born, eh? First year at Hogwarts? We get all sorts about this time. I'll help you out this time but you're on you're own next year, eh?"

John swallowed and nodded. His parents came to stand behind him. His mum placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and smiled down at him. He smiled back a bit weakly.

The barkeep lead them through the strange crowd(men and women dressed in brightly colored clothing, some clearly trying to pass as non magical folk and, John had to say, failing terribly) and out the back door. There, he came to a solid brick wall.

"Now... watch closely,"he ordered, withdrawing a knobby looking stick... no... wand from within his cloak. He tapped a series of bricks slowly and John watched in awe as the wall fell away and formed a huge archway. The barkeep giggled beside them.

"Since you're muggles, you'll want to go to Gringotts first,"he informed them. "They'll do some fancy conversion for your paper money and give you some galleons. Good luck, lad." The barkeep nodded and turned, leaving them behind.

* * *

Diagon Alley was a flurry of witches and wizards and children and, for once, John felt like he and his family were the odd ones out. Everyone wore robes and some of the older magical folks had donned pointed wizarding hats. Owls, bats, cats, and various other strange creatures zoomed over the Watson family's head. His father, who had always been a no nonsense kind of man(the military lifestyle generally did that), muttered a quiet,"Bloody hell" under his breath. John couldn't help but feel that was a good assessment of the situation.

They started down the cobblestone street, threading delicately through the crowd. They got odd looks as they went but mostly it was a matter of heading toward the largest building at the end of the street; it looked vaguly bankish what with the white marble and large pillars. Some things just seemed to cross over, John supposed.

The large building turned out to be the Gringotts that the barkeep mentioned. John entered and was quickly struck by how gleaming and stately the entire place was. There were various witches and wizards at the service desks and each desk was manned by a single, short, ugly... man?

The creatures were human-like but their featuers were sharper and their faces grotesque. Their teeth were all wrong(sharp like shattered glass) and their hands were large and spidery; the same hands easily worked the various gold and silver and copper coins that the wizards offered or appraised different artifacts that each person offered up for deposit and safe keeping. John's father's hand tightened again at his shoulder.

"Com'on then, son,"he said. "Up we go."

They approached the first empty window and the teller looked at them around his large, spindly nose. "What's your transaction?"he asked nastily, giving them hard, scrutinising looks. John felt a flutter of nervousness; he was completely glad when his dad was the one to speak up.

"We'd like to exchange currency,"he said, voice study and strong. He had his leather wallet out and was leafing out a few hundred pound notes. He held them out to the teller who took them and scowled. Clearly he believed the quid to be about as useful as lavatory paper.

"Muggles, eh? Very well."

He turned away from them, the stool he sat on not making a noise as he did so. After a bit of shuffling about, he turned back to them and dropped a small bag. "The gold ones are Galleons,"he informed them sharply. "The silver ones are sickles and the copper ones are knuts." He waved them off, giving as much an explanation as he deemed necessary.

John resisted the urge to give the nasty little "man" the two fingered salute; no need to be so rude and short...

Clearly his father's mind was on the same vein but Mr. Watson simply took the bag and lead his small clan from the bank. John's mother was the one who spoke up when they got outside.

"Alright, Johnny,"she said. "What's first on your list?"

* * *

By the time John had reached Olivander's Wand Shop, he and his parents were completely ladened down and John himself was so utterly enamoured with the new world he'd been thrust in. The things he'd seen just in the few hours he'd spent at Diagon Alley were far more amazing than anything he'd seen in his entire life in London! Everything was truly as magical as he thought it would be. Even his hardened Dad seemed to be at ease and enjoying himself and his mother laughed so easily.

And now they were to the best part! The absolute best part! This was the moment John had been eagerly waiting for since he'd really looked at his shopping list. Getting his wand!

He vibrated as he pushed open the shop door, a tinkling bell ringing over head as they entered. The shop they stepped into was almost pedestrian by comparison to the other stores. The inside smelled strongly of wood, dust, and electricty and the air felt like the timelessness of a library. Despite these attributes, the shop reminded John more of a shoe store that... well, only sold one shoe.

There were huge, hulking wooden shelves everywhere, all with long boxes stacked haphazardly all over them. It was from behind one of these shelves that a white haired man appeared, his eyes a soft gentle blue. He smiled at them and approached slowly.

"Ah, hello there,"he said. "First time Hogwarts student, I'm assuming?"

"Aye,"John's father said above, carefully lowering the bags and approaching the elderly man. "Hamish Watson,"he continued, holding out his hand. The elderly man took it and gave 's hand a quick squeeze and a weak shake.

"Oh, Muggles?"he said. "You must be; I remember every wand I ever sold and I don't remember selling any to you two. You may call me Mr. Olivander, Mr. Watson." Olivander turned his eyes towards John who felt his cheeks heat up under his intense scrutiny. "I assume you're the one in need of a wand?"he asked, not unkindly.

John nodded. "Yessir,"he answered. "John Watson, sir."

John's mother had approached behind his father. "And I'm Ella Watson,"she said gently. "This is all a bit... new to us. Our Johnny here is the only wizard in the family." John's face got hotter and he distracted himself by looking around at the wands.

"Ah, well, you're in good hands, I assure you,"Mr. Olivander said. "Just remember; the wand chooses the wizard and not the other way around. Now let me see..."

He turned to the shelves and began to head down them. John was just beginning to wonder if he should have followed the older gentleman when he sudden reappeared, a few boxes in tow.

"Let's try this one first,"Olivander said, opening it slowly. "Rowan and dragonheart string. Very stiff. Give it awave, alright?" He placed it gently into John's right hand and John eyed it. The wand seemed to eye him back before giving him a sharp, tingling jolt. John dropped it sharply and backed away from it, rubbing his hand.

Olivander wrinkled his nose. "No, no, not right,"he said, taking the dropped wand and returning it to its box. He reached for another and withdrew it; it was longer than the first. "Try this one,"he said. "Blackthorn and Unicorn hair. Some what supple."

It was some what more wary that John took this wand. As soon as his fingers touched the wooden handle, however, Olivander had jerked it away. "No, that one isn't it either,"he said sharply, replacing it. They went through the process with several more wands, the tower of boxes next to Olivander growing taller and taller as they went through more and more.

John himself was starting to get frustrated when Olivander reappeared once more with one last box. "You're quite affable; none of the wands seem to particularly dislike you,"he said as he placed the new box on the table,"but none of them are particularly connected to you either. Ah. Here we go. Try this one. Cedar and unicorn hair. Its some what compact and its _very_ sturdy; good for someone who deals with danger."

John eyed the wand and frowned; he somehow doubted this one would be the wand either but he wasn't willing to just leave without it; he needed a wand to be a wizard. Besides, he was... he was almost afraid that if this wasn't the wand then maybe... maybe he wasn't meant to have one at all. Maybe there had been some terrible mistake.

Hesitantly, he touched the wooden handle with gentle fingertips, prepared to accept yet another rejection. Nothing happened, however, and as his grip grew tighter, he felt a rush of warmth surge up his arm. He funneled around in his head and he drew in a ragged, sharp breath as it exploded inside of him. Distantly he could hear Olivander say,"Yes... Yes this is the one..." before there was yet another explosion, this one jerking from the end of his wand.

A surge of magic burst through the tip and there was a huge bang. The store went wobbly for a moment and there was a numbness in his left shoulder. It was uncomfortable and disconcerting; John wished it would go away... until it did go away and leave a searing pain its place. He let out a strangled yell and the shop came back into clarity, sharp and painfully bright.

There was blood rushing in his ears and he could barely hear his mum crying out,"Johnny!" before blackness overtook him.

* * *

**Author's Note: ** Wow! Let me just say, I'm epically pleased with how many favs and alerts this got. :D Its definitely more attention than any of my fanfictions have ever gotten and for that, I'm really really chuffed. Thank you so so SO much to all of those who commented and favorited and followed this. I'm genuinely pleased to know that there are people who have enjoyed it!

Now... onto this chapter...

A swap in perspective, to little Mudblood Johnny. For future reference, I'm American and therefore, this story will probably be very very Americanized. I don't know any Brits who would Brit Pick it for me so... if any reveiwers out there have suggestions to word changes or can point out any stuff that is unrealistic, I'd be eternally grateful. Or, even, if there's anyone out there willing to beta/brit pick for me. Just... drop me a PM here or email me or contact me on AIM (tj the vampire). If you get in touch with me, please let me know where you got my AIM SN from though; I've had issues with bots.

Uhh... John's wand. I actually had a really hard time deciding his wand! Haha, which is totally why Olivander had such a hard time with him. I knew right from the start that I wanted a unicorn hair core(it produces the most consistent magic); it was the wood that was the most trouble. The two woods that Olivander mentioned(Rowan and Blackthorn) are totally two that I considered for John. Rowan because it is the best for protection spells and it generally chooses wizards of high moral fiber and Blackthorn because generally speaking it is a wand used by a lot of Aurors and it is often a very powerful wand. Blackthorn is generally best suited to warriors and everyone knows that John Hamish Watson is a BAMF!

In the end, however, I settled on Cedar. Cedar wands choose wizards of strong character and loyalty; wizards of cedar wands aren't fooled easily and generally speaking are fairly unassuming and affable until someone they care about is put into direct danger. Once that happens, they are powerful adversaries. Which, in my head, just screams John.


	3. Chapter 2

_**Chapter Two**_

It wasn't generally part of the Hogwart's Express's job to worry about being blown up; to be fair, it was the first year it had Sherlock Holmes as a passenger. Said first year was now pressed into one of the train's rooms, the door firmly locked by his eldest brother, Mycroft. The young boy had huddled himself on one of the cushioned bench seats, pressed into the corner between the wall and the window, and now glared out the hills that zoomed past. Clutched tightly between pale fingers was his sycamore wand, the magical instrument practically humming. Not breaking his brooding, Sherlock lifted the wand and gave it a looping twirl.

He watched from the corner of his eye as it formed a circle of sparks in the air. With careful precision, he dotted the circle with two eyes and then made a sweeping grin. His lips twitched and he gave a quick swish to chase away the glitter. His expression tightened at the sound of the lock clicking and he childishly folded his cloak(rebelliously dark blue instead of black) tighter around himself.

A set of shiny black shoes stepped into the carpeted compartment followed by a thick young man in his own (respectfully _black_)robes. "You are lucky that they didn't pack you up and send you back to Mummy,"Mycroft said, voice as smooth as glass and as chilly as a glacier.

"It was just an experiment,"Sherlock said, petulantly. "It wouldn't have actually done any harm."

Mycroft drew in a tight, long breath. "Of course not, Sherlock,"he said, voice dripping with cool sarcasm. "Mucking about with the coal's chemical make up to make it more combustible... No harm possible." Sherlock's facial expression darkened.

"Piss off,"he growled in return to his brother.

"A fine way to speak to the person who kept you in school,"Mycroft said shrewdly. His Head Boy badge glimmered in the compartment light. "Mummy would also be pleased by your vocabulary..."

Sherlock didn't respond, too busy glaring at the black and white cows that zipped past. Viciously, he imagined that they were Mycroft; getting fattened up nice and heavy for slaughter. Mycroft sighed and shook his head. "Very well,"he said. "Enjoy your childish solitude. My Head Boy duties call."

Mycroft turned and exited the compartment, calling over his shoulder as he left,"You are not to leave this compartment until we arrive at Hogwarts and especially not allowed to go near the engine room." The door shut behind him with a click of finality.

An ugly expression curls Sherlock's face and he raises his wand, prepared to explode _something_ when a tentative knock stops him. Silver eyes narrow and he spits a nasty,"Go away" just as the door opens. In a mere moment, Sherlock's eyes take in the unassuming young boy-_same age or slighltly older- _in an oatmeal jumper about a size too big-_older brother and muggle parents; half blood or mudblood-_with sharp squared off shoulders and a straight back-_parent in the military._ The young man is holding a wand which is the next detail Sherlock focuses on-_cedar; powerful, protective._

His computer like brain quickly classifies his classmate as either a Hufflepuff or a future Hufflepuff. He quickly got the label boring.

"Muggle born or half blood?"Sherlock asks sharply.

The boy furrows his brow. "Sorry? Is that how wizards usually introduce each other?"he asks, and there's a tiny bit of sarcasm there. "John Watson, if you actually want to know and I'm muggle born... Who are you? And how did you know I wasn't from a wizarding family?"

"Your wearing an older brother's jumper an hour into the train ride,"Sherlock said in a brisk tone of voice. "Most wizarding children would have changed into their school robes by now. Furthermore, you would have sat with your older brother had he been a wizard; many half and half families with two children end up with one of each. May I burrow your wand?"

John blinked as though he had a headache coming on and stared at the strange boy. "Sorry, my wand? What's wrong with yours?"he said, furrowing his brow. "And older brother?"

"Obviously,"Sherlock said. "Your jumper is too big; obviously a hand me down from an older sibling. And nothing except a powerful trace as a... preventative measure. I can't use a spell stronger than the Curse of the Bogies or someone unpleasant will show up. Your wand, please."

There was a deafening silence and Sherlock found himself waiting for the inevitable freak he always got called. Instead he got a whispered,"That's brillant!" It was Sherlock's turn to blink and, even worse, feel his cheeks heat.

"You think so?"he said, a bit of pride leaking into his voice.

"Definitely!"John said with a grin and a nod, passing over his wand. The wooden handle hit Sherlock's hand and he felt the magic from it tingle into his skin. Absently, Sherlock wandered over to a large, screech owl's cage that sat at the far side of the room. At is perch, the avian screamed loudly and flapped its wings at Sherlock, even as he gave John's wand a wave.

"That's not what people usually say,"he said, watching as the poor bird's wings turned alarming shades of purple and yellow. John eyed the poor, brightly colored bird as he said,"What do they normally say?"

Sherlock's mouth twitched wryly. "Piss off."

He nearly jumped as John laughed aloud and he felt a pleasant warmth invade him. It bubbled up his throat as a surprised, soft chuckle. Perhaps John Watson wasn't nearly as boring as Sherlock first believed.

* * *

The Hogwart's Express continued its trundle through the green country. Overhead, the sky turned from brilliant blue to a rosy pink hue until it had transitioned into a deep purple and dark blue. By the time it had pulled into the Hogsmeade Station, the white speckles of stars were dotting its visage.

John and Sherlock had spent the train ride together, John telling Sherlock about his family(Sherlock was still petulant about finding out that Harry was not a brother at all; Harry was an older _sister_) and his life as a muggle and Sherlock telling John about their various trainmates. Really, John's compliments were addictive and Sherlock found showing off was for once worth it.

Now they stood huddled together on the platform with all the other first years. Towering up ahead was a huge bear of a man waving a latern. He called out in a booming voice,"Firs' years! First years over here!" They were quickly herded over to him like cattle toward the lake and a group of little dhingies. John eyed them.

"Sherlock... what are we doing?"he asked.

"We're going to the school, John,"Sherlock said, stepping gracefully into the the boat. He settled himself and John soon joined him, looking slightly less graceful.

"Why are we going in a boat?"

"Dramatic affect,"Sherlock said dryly and then flipped the collar of his robe up around his face. John rolled his eyes.

"Right, okay,"he said. He grabbed the edge of the boat as it suddenly lurched into motion. The night was clear and the boat glided through the dark waters easily. It almost looked like the night sky was endless with the way it reflected back from the water. It was like sailing through space.

For the most part, the trip was silent, the first years all lost in their own minds. Sherlock was just pondering the affects of polyjuice potion on animals when their boats lurched onto shore. They were lead out of their boats into a massive, arching corridor. Sometime during the trip, the bear-man had left them and now standing before them was a severe looking, elderly woman. Her steel great hair was pulled into a tight, neat bun and she stared at each first year in turn over her glasses.

"Good Evening, First Years,"she said, voice accented a light scottish,"and welcome to Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am Deputy Headmistress, Professor McGonagall. In just a few moments, I will lead you into the Great Hall where you will be sorted. I will call your names alphabetically, you will come and sit down, and I will place the Sorting Hat upon your head. Whatever House the hat should call out is your permenant home; your House will be your family for the duration of your time at Hogwarts. Now... if you'll follow me."

She turned and the first years quickly followed her. They entered the Great Hall in two, parallel lines and the talk that had originally been a dull roar, now stopped completely. Four long tables, all lined with students, sat vertically in the massive room. At the head, horizonal to the four tables, was clearly the staff table. And between the tables, a the front center, was the tattered Sorting Hat.

McGonagall stepped up next to the hat and unfurled a long scroll. From there it was just one name after another. Every time a student was called out, they would approach the hat, sit on the stool, and the top half of their head would disappear under its wide brim. Sometimes it would call out the House instantly. Other times, it would sit silent for a minute or two before giving its answer.

Sherlock was the seventh called up. He stepped up unabashedly, already certain of his House. At the green and silver Slytherin table, Mycroft sat up straighter and eyed him over his long nose. Sherlock's lips twitched as he sat down.

A wheedly voice began to speak in his head.

_**Ah. Another Holmes boy. Your brother was easy but I can tell you're going to be much harder.**_

_I want Ravenclaw._

The hat laughed. _**Yes, I can see that. You would certainly fit. However, Slytherin would certainly be suitable as well...**_

Sherlock scowled. _Ravenclaw._

_**Ah, you're sure. Well then... better send you off to-  
**_

"RAVENCLAW!"

The table squashed between the yellow and black Hufflepuff and the silver and green Slytherin burst into loud applauds as Sherlock hopped up from the stool and made his way over. He sent a smug look toward Mycroft who was clearly displeased with the turn of events. If it had been in his nature, Sherlock would have stuck his tongue out at Mycroft.

* * *

**Author's Note:** A much longer chapter. I'll write Johnny's sorting next time. I don't like swapping between points of view in same chapters. :) Also, we have been introduced to Sherlock's wand. He gave me trouble as well, though not as much as John and actually, I had two opposite problems for them. John's issue was that too many wands matched his personality. Sherlock's was that none of them seemed to. I at first actually considered Elder wood. Elder wands pick wizards who are powerful and most superior in the area. They also tend to pick oddballs. Furthermore, Elder wand wizards tend to get on well with Rowan wand wizards... which is what Rowan was considered for John's wand.

... but then I found Sycamore and it was too perfect to _**not **_use. Sycamore wands are questing wands who always like new experiences but this isn't what makes sycamore utterly, beautifully perfect. Sycamore wands get _bored_ and will combust under boredom. They'll catch fire! Haha, sound familiar? Furthermore, sycamore users are vital, curious, and adventurous. So I just _had_ to use it. The rest of Sherlock's wand is phoenix feather(a very rare wand core and able to use the widest variety of magic; they also tend to act on their own), twelve and three quarter inches and brittle.

Thank you to everyone who has signed up to follow this fanfiction. Thank you for the favorites and the reveiws as well. :) It means so so much to me to know that people like this fanfiction and that they are enjoying themselves. I hope to continue and please everyone.


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